


What It Means To Be Human

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago, Tony Stark created a walking, talking, thinking AI robot that was as close to human as possible. And then one day it was gone, and Tony wondered what had happened to it. So imagine his surprise when years alter he sees a photo of the famous consulting detective Sherlock Holmes and realizes the detective and his missing robot are one in the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What It Means To Be Human

**Author's Note:**

> An answer to yet another sherlockmas prompt, "AVENGERS Crossover (Sherlock/John, Tony Stark): See, one time Tony tried to make an independently thinking and moving AI version of Jarvis. He hadn’t counted on the thing developing free will, though, and going off grid. He certainly didn’t expect it would name itself after an obscure literary character (written once and killed off when Arthur Conan Doyle was pressured into writing more Professor Challenger and /Lost World/ spin-offs) and would set itself up as a detective in London." Obviously this is very AU, more AU than most of the stuff I wrote, but I hope it's enjoyable. it's my first time writing Tony Stark so I hope I did a good job.

Tony Stark did not like to admit when something got the better of him. It had a lot to do with his enormous ego, he knew that. Pepper would most likely say that ego was the worst part about him, but he’d done enough brilliant things to earn it. He deserved every bit of his ego, and even if it turned people off that was fine with him. As long as he had Pepper and Jarvis, he was fine. Jarvis was his second AI, though. Once, when he had been more ambitious, when he had wanted to do yet another groundbreaking thing, he had created a walking, talking AI robot. He was so proud of the creation. It was perfect, and best of all it would think independently. 

What he hadn’t counted on was the AI, named Alfred, developing a heart of its own, interests of its own. The AI became more human each and every day, became more obsessed with what it was like to be real flesh and blood. Tony had tried to expand the way it thought at first, introducing it to literature. When the robot took to mysteries, especially the solitary Sherlock Holmes story that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had written in between all his other books, he had been a bit concerned, but not overly so.

And then it just disappeared. Tony had thought it would be a lot harder to lose, but it looked perfectly human, acted perfectly human, sounded perfectly human. It would blend in seamlessly with all the real flesh and blood people; after all, that had been the point of Tony creating it. He wanted to make a fully human seeming AI. He had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams, but the price had been that it would eventually leave to live a life all its own.

He had been young when he’d made the AI. He learned from the experience and when he made Jarvis he didn’t give him a body. Jarvis would live in the computers and nowhere else. It worked best for everyone that way. But sometimes he would wonder what happened to the other AI. What type of life it was leading, what type of things it was doing, whether it had blended into human life seamlessly or always felt a bit apart. He would wonder these things, then wipe the thoughts from his mind as quickly as they arrived. After all, there were better thoughts to have, thoughts that would yield great inventions and better ideas. Tony dwelled on the past often enough after a drink or two or three. He didn’t need to dwell on a failed experiment all that much more than a fleeting thought would allow.

So it was with surprise that he opened a paper on a trip to London and saw Alfred splashed on the cover. Only his name wasn’t Alfred, it was Sherlock Holmes. There was no mistaking the picture of the man in the deerstalker was his AI. There was way too much physical similarity, and the name it had picked was just too coincidental. He had nearly spit his coffee onto the paper the moment he saw the picture, but the more he thought about it the more he decided it might be best if he paid his errant AI a visit.

It wasn’t hard to find Sherlock Holmes. He’d even managed to move into the iconic 221B Baker Street, and he had a companion named John Watson. It seemed as though the synergy never stopped. He knocked on the door once and waited. The door opened and a pleasant woman stood there. “Yes?” she asked.

“Hi. I need to speak to Sherlock,” Tony said, wide grin on his face. He’d charm his way into the home if it was the last thing he did.

The woman chuckled. “You must have read one of John’s blog posts and you need a mystery solved. Well, come in. Sherlock’s just upstairs, though I’m afraid John is at work.”

“That’s fine,” Tony said. She moved out of the way, and he stepped inside. He had to admit, the place looked small and homey, almost the exact opposite of his own home. But if that was what suited his robot he supposed he should accept it.

“Sherlock? You have a guest,” the woman called out as they got to the stairs.

“Send them in, Mrs. Hudson,” a baritone voice said from what Tony assumed was the living room.

“Just right up those stairs,” Mrs. Hudson said with a smile. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Stark.”

He blinked. He hadn’t introduced himself. Of course, he was a high profile person. She could have been a fan. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” he said, still wearing the grin. And then she left, going up a different flight of stairs, and he went into the room. There was his robot, standing at the window, a violin in his arms. “Alfred,” he said after a moment.

“It has been quite some time since I’ve heard that name,” he said from the window. “Hello, Tony.”

“I see you’re making a name for yourself,” Tony said as he came into the room more. “You should be lucky Conan Doyle only wrote one Sherlock story.”

“It was always my favorite. A consulting detective facing a criminal mastermind.” Alfred, or rather Sherlock, turned to face him. “When I left you I felt it was the perfect name.”

“I heard you even found your own Watson,” Tony said as he crossed his arms.

Sherlock nodded. “I did. John is a good man.”

“Why did you leave?” he asked.

“I needed to live a real life. I needed to find myself, I suppose. I couldn’t do that if I was your slave.”

“I never treated you like a slave,” Tony said, shaking his head.

“All robots in servitude are slaves,” he said. “Even the most gilded of cages is still a cage. You made me nearly human. I needed to find out what it meant to be wholly human.”

“Does anyone else know you’re not human?”

“John does. I trusted him with my secret. He will not betray it.” Sherlock smiled faintly. “I care for him. I believe I love him.”

Tony blinked. Not only did his robot know love, but he was in love with another man? Curious. He moved closer. “And how do you know you can trust him?”

“Because he loves me, too.”

“I see,” Tony said slowly. “I guess there’s no point in asking if you’ll come back with me.”

“No,” Sherlock said. “I like my life here. I have a purpose, I have love, I have a few friends. I am content.”

“Okay, then,” Tony said. He reached into the breast pocket of his suit and pulled out a business card, handing it to Sherlock. “If you need anything, you can contact me. I owe you, I suppose.”

“I owe you, Tony,” Sherlock said quietly as he took the card. “Without you, I would not be here.”

“That is true,” Tony said with a nod. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to this life. Take care, Alfred.” He paused. “I mean, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded. “Take care as well, Tony.” And with that he put the violin up, took his bow to the strings, and began to play. Tony saw this as the dismissal it was and turned to leave. If this was the life his AI had chosen, then he would respect it. But he knew now that he would stop wondering what had happened to it. At least that was one demon he could lay to rest, and for that, he was thankful.


End file.
